dark poetry

Wiggling brain worms of lovecross each other on withering paths,laying out siege plans and more,demanding the mind bow and be labeled a whore.Tussling tatters of titrated remains,their infection spreads softlybut fierce is the pain.When all is lost to the annals of memory(that malleable stuff made of thoughts stuck in entropy),we’ll know not the beginning,seek to suss out the end.But by that point the parasites will be dug in,they’ve rewired the hardware,unfucked the program and rewritten the codes.Their beautifully at odds with all we call real,if God were a worm I might be filled with more zeal.A zest for the unknown where dreams can take flight,even a place to call home in the bitterest of nights.But, here I sit.Obliterated identity left off as a stainto be cleaned by the new hostwho’d prefer I be insane.

Despite every frothing nuanced prayer that initializes my psyche, the distorted grimace of broken promises and lost understanding, perched atop a wistful hallucination, a misted and cloaked recollection of the past run doggedly down by the present pretense.

If ever there was something akin more to the listless and forgiving welcome end of the fight with the embittered arrogance of senses beguiled by a world at odds with the wasted conviction that drives each of us to draw determined store each day.

I don’t want to see that shit.

It’s going to remain a figment of some darker god’s plaything.

Poor darlings chained up until the scent of dread and hate and playful desperation and longing and weakness and fear cum resignation. Soaks the fingers loose from greased clasp on steel.

Fucking breaking would be the sweetest of releases.

To find forgiveness in deceit , blunder through fields of denial, laden and swollen deep with the putrid rage at self and world.

Just take one more day beautiful.

Please.

I’m begging through this weakness and shame of my indignant mistrust.

Please.

Please show me I’m crazy enough that I won’t die in my hate lust that these fears have spawned.

I’ll be your puppy faced joker.

Your sterile cat of misapprehension.

Feed me your sin to mirror mine and kiss these wounds to sew them shut against a clot of your mercy. The sheen was lost so long ago and hasn’t been a clean reflection since you woke me to a world of normalcy bathed in the crackled genius of the wounded.